We can finally unveil our Burns Night 2025 Poetry Competition winners!
You know how it all works by now, so let’s get right to it. Here’s the top and the respective prizes they’ve won:
Burns Night 2025 Poetry Competition Winners
| 1st place | Bunnahabhain 18 Year Old | Nick Glaves |
| 2nd place | Aberfeldy 18 YO Sangiovese Red Wine Cask | Andrew Columbine |
| 3rd place | Talisker x Parley – Wilder Seas | Ross Mcgrane |
| 4th place | Bowmore 15 Year Old | Terri McGregor |
| 5th place | Chivas Regal 18 Year Old | John Harris |
| 6th place | Laphroaig 10 Year Old Sherry Oak Finish | Alan McIntosh |
| 7th place | Lochlea Our Barley | Jayne McGregor |
| 8th place | Meikle Tòir The Sherry One | James Bunting |
| 9th place | Timorous Beastie | Dale Watson |
| 10th place | Cutty Sark Prohibition Overproof Blended Scotch Whisky | Christian Barron |
Congratulations to our Burns Night winners
Burns Night 2025 Poetry Competition Winning Poems
Congratulations to all who entered and to our radiant top 10. How do they do it?
You can read the top 10 poems below.
Slàinte Mhath!
1st place: Untitled
Come quickly, winter,
Do not dwell,
In the fecund spring or long summer days,
As hot as hell.
Blow, bitter winds,
Blow the birds from the air,
Swirl and bluster brutishly.
Do not play fair.
For what use a man who cold
Cannot endure?
His heart, his grace, his soul, his guile,
Much the weaker for,
The courage that deserted him,
So cruelly at the door.
God made the nithering winter,
A murderess’s rage,
Cast upon this floating earth,
A bitter war to wage.
But man, he made the whisky,
The visceral-burning gold,
To fight winter’s onslaught, and
In armies of drunken kin,
And in joyful song,
Drive away the cold.
2nd place: Untitled
Three parts, the humble dram has shown
Together greater than alone
Entwined create, with wide regard
Elixir of the Scottish Bard
First: Water, H2-eau de vie
A purer start their couldnae be
Winds its way throughout the land
The terroir’s chance to show its hand
It lays with barley for a while
Where malted grain asserts its style
A waft of peat, a hint of smoke
To quench the gout of bolder folk
And third, the magic of the yeast
Turns pungent mash to fiery beast
Filtering through steadfast still
As stock and steam enforce their will
Yet three alone tell half the tale
And only with a fourth prevail;
To bless this dram with all its glory
Time and cask must tell their story
Heed then, the wisdom of the malt!
For every bond that’s worth its salt
Blends friendship, love and care together,
Rewards with time, and lasts forever
3rd place: An Ode To The Dram
Through mists of the Highlands to glens ever smilin’,
Ma heart’s been beguiled by a drink so divine.
In the glow of the heather, through foul or fair weather,
The warmth of the whisky has ne’er left by our side.
Though scholars may ponder over books they grow fonder,
And poets wax lyrical ’bout moonlight’s soft shine,
They all could be wiser, and far merrier risers,
If only their wisdom was found in a casks line
So stick to the dram, lads, it’s better than jam, lads,
For drownin’ your sorrows and liftin’ your cheer!
It’s bold and it’s braw, lads, the nectar of gods, lads,
There’s nae finer brew than Scotch whisky, my dears!*
What warms through the cold? What’s richer than gold?
What’s smoother than silk, yet with fire in its soul?
What makes people unite, through day and through night,
And keeps Scotland’s pride in a well-seasoned bowl?
It’ll make the shy sing, make them dance and do flings,
Give courage to hearts that are heavy with grief.
And what keeps the piper playing on an all-nighter?
Oh, wasn’t it whisky that brought him relief?
So stick to the dram, lads, it’s better than jam, lads,
For feedin’ your spirit and sparkin’ your flame!
It’s strong as a stag, lads, and worth every hang, lads,
Oh, raise up your glass to old whiskeys grand name!
4th place: A Highland Toast Gone Wrong
In a croft on a hill near a Highland burn,
Old Dougal sat with whisky to spurn.
“”To Scotland!”” he roared, with a dram held high,
And the cows joined in with a hearty cry.
But Dougal, no master of balance or grace,
Stumbled and fell on his weathered old face.
The whisky went flying, the glass hit the ground,
And a silence fell over the cows all around.
“”Ye daft auld goat!”” his wife did shout,
“”That’s twenty quid’s worth ye’ve just poured out!””
The cows looked aghast, as if to agree,
For even they knew – that’s blasphemy!
Dougal got up with a sheepish grin,
“”Ach, lass, it’s nae crime tae start again!””
He grabbed the bottle, poured out a new share,
And toasted once more with a devil-may-care.
But as he turned to the cows to boast,
He knocked her pint clean off the post.
It splashed in the mud, her temper took flight,
“You’ll be sleeping wi’ the cows in the byre tonight!”
5th place: Shattered Love
It was whisky that bought us together.
The first time I sampled Rhodsdhu,
She cradled my drink through the evening.
Our futures together- I knew!
The scent of her breath was exalting,
her curves were the talk of the bar.
She exuded a sparkle beguiling.
She quickly became my North Star.
Our lives simply melded together.
She stood at the end of my arm,
Holding the drink that we loved so.
My oasis of memory and calm.
We travelled the nation together.
Sampling the malts of our land.
From Bladnoch to Kirkwall we journeyed,
always her light close to hand.
It was whisky that lead to our ending.
One fiery night up in Renfrew.
The bar was positively heaving,
Then in stepped the Tullamore Crew.
I was sipping my first Glengoyne eighteen,
admiring her well balanced form.
Behind us rose a commotion,
beyond that roared a great storm.
I cradled my love close beside me,
as the Crew turned on one of their own.
Then ‘Strammie’ McGill lurched against us.
From my arms my beauty was thrown.
I clawed at the air as she tumbled,
hurtling into the mass.
But there on the slate she lay shattered.
-My cut crystal Glencairn tasting glass!
But that’s not the end of my story.
The owner had witnessed my plight.
She poured me a stiff Tobermory.
– We wed that very Burns Night!
6th place: Untitled
Fur a’ that Burns is lang since deed, his words still echo through ma heid, enough tae hae me follow his lead an’ wricht some words sae fair.
If only I had half his skill, tae bend the words aroon ma will an’ wricht an’ wricht them doon until I couldnae write nae mair.
Then find I’d written sic a poem that thoosands o’ folk the words wid know ’em, aye maybe then I’d be able tae show ’em that poetry’s nae sae hard.
Weel that wid jist be sic a tale, an’ trying that I’d surely fail, an’ jist be a peely wally pale impression o’ Burns, oor Bard!
7th place: Untitled
The old farmer was merry
The crops were all in.
The cows looked on in delight
Cos to drinking he’s bin.
He toasted the crop and he toasted the cows.
Then he toasted the lochs and he toasted the clouds..
His whiskey is good it put fire in his belly
He didn’t even care that his feet were still smelly.
But his wife was quite cross at the mud all around
There was more in the kitchen than there was in the ground.
She slaved over the stove to make him his food
But now he just says he’s not in the mood.
“Stop your drinking, you fool, or you’ll be out in the barn”
But the farmer just laughed and replied with a yawn
“Oh lassie I’ll sleep wherever you say,
But please don’t ever take my whiskey away”
8th place: Ghosts, damned ghosts
Ghosts, damned ghosts, he murmured,
As the wind knocked the dunnage door,
And the storm blew shadows at the windows
and across the dusty floor.
His cap lay on the barrels,
his torch hung from a beam,
each bung was cast aside
as he worked his craft unseen.
Until his bag was full to bursting,
And he sloshed with every step,
His dream a dram by the fire
before he climbs the stairs to bed.
But not tonight, he knows,
there’s a thousand barrels left
and he needs to dip them all
before he even thinks of rest.
A thief? A burglar? A smuggler?
You can call him what you dare
But to some he’s a dusty angel
Taking his rightful share.”
9th place: The Notes
“Read the notes on the bottle my fellow.”
“Damp cardboard, cigar ash, a blended medicine cabinet but quite mellow…”
“You havin’ a laugh?”
“Mixed together in an old tin bath…”
“You’re pulling my leg.”
“A hefty sprinkling of nutmeg…”
“You’re messing about.”
“Traditional, creamy Irish stout…”
“You’re telling me porkies”
“Scratchings, ham-hock and damp corgis…”
“You’ve gone barking mad!”
“Salty seaweed but just a tad…”
“You’re surely taking the mick.”
“All swirled around with a cinnamon stick…”
“That’s it, you’ve gone too far”
“A Milky Bar, the smell of tyres on a vintage car…”
“Some of these are starting to jarr”
“The aroma of freshly applied roofing tar…”
“Just stop wasting my time.”
“The jammy taste of a fine French wine…”
“You’ll tell me owt.”
“All wrapped up in a new leather coat.”
“Are you making this all up?”
“Well, that’s what it says, decide for yourself, just give it a sup.”
10th place: Winters hope
My arm, I can’t feel my arm, I awake in panic
It’s cold, so cold the air freezes my lungs,
Not nearly time to wake to the morning of manic
The day has yet to come
The blistering sun hasn’t winked at the ground
Before the bells of my alarm ring aloud
And I awake to darkness and gloom all around
For North I live with the eternal cloud
Yet breakfast beckons to begin the day
But first to wake up with a warm bitter brew
Before the toil of work begins its play
And the clouds part by the suns red hue
Though miserable all this may seem
When the day ends, she is there to greet me
With a warming touch and golden gleam
Her velvety layers roll like waves on the sea
When she’s done I turn to a beautiful auburn
With her sweet smells of chocolate and fruit
Her taste so close I’m in anticipation to learn
There’s tales about her incredible repute
And so comes to an end the dreary day
In a haze of liquid suns I own
The cold sets in as my foggy thoughts stray
Fading away in this wintry home
